


The Moon's Ravenous Creatures

by orphan_account



Category: Pacific Rim
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Character Study, Claustrophobia, Depression, F/F, F/M, Gen, Ghost Drifting, Hallucinations, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Ableism, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Transphobia, M/M, Misgendering, Multi, Nightmares, One Night Stands, Other, Panic Attacks, Social Anxiety, Trans Character(s), implied/referenced eating disorder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-04-15
Packaged: 2018-01-17 15:46:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1393318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone has a beginning and an end - it's the in-between that matters. But when that's so muddled up that it becomes unrecognizable, endless, it isn't a life any more. It's a series of false pretenses warped by the idea that it can be fixed.<br/>That's when there's no hope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kismet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life is but the sensation of eyes staring every time you turn away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a recent idea that came to me at 2am, just like any other brilliant thought known to human kind. I'm not sure where I'm going with it but hopefully it'll be something you'll enjoy. I've been wanting to make a contribution to the fandom for a while and I guess this is it. 
> 
>  
> 
> Constructive criticism is always welcome.
> 
>  
> 
> Unbeta'ed, all mistakes are my own.

It started out with the simple desire to not go, and somewhere between morning coffee and stacks of paperwork that never stopped growing turned into a vehement inclination to find himself in some unfortunately convenient accident to avoid it altogether.

He hated the biweekly meetings between their departments with a passion that burned brighter than the broken bulb in the break room. Scolding black coffee in styrofoam cups that tasted better than the coffee itself and a perpetually empty sugar dispenser. The incessant tapping of writing utensils against whatever solid surface presented itself. Doodling in the margins instead of taking notes. Texting someone two chairs down, phone hidden under the table. Those two coworkers from the other department that always glance at each other when the other isn't looking that everyone thinks should just fucking hook up already.

It didn't stop there, but if he spent any more time thinking about it he might suffer a haemorrhage (which wasn't necessarily a bad thing if it excused him from work for the day).

The only alleviation the cosmos offered him was the lead scientist of the other department who now stood at the front of the room, with his inked arms faintly visible through the thin material of his button down shirt and thick black glasses that matched his rather short tie. He would invite everyone in the room to spill their unsweetened coffee on his lap, near boiling and filled to the brim, for a regularly scheduled opportunity to listen to the other man's ear splitting voice rattle of headers from his horribly designed PowerPoint any day.

Years ago he wouldn't have dared think like this, wouldn't have looked at all, would have kept his eyes on the meagre notes in front of him. But he's a new man. A new him. Liberated from the pressures of society.

Or so Hermann tells himself.

Really, that isn't at all true. If anything he's more of a prisoner now than he was in youth, because setting more rules for himself is easier that breaking the ones conditioned into his very being from the moment he exited the womb. He hates his inability to grow, to expand beyond the box he sealed himself in.

But then again, he hates everything.

 

* * *

 

Sometimes Hermann blames himself.

He sits on the corner of his bed, he looks down at his feet because he can't bare looking at himself in the mirror hanging on the closet door. He pretends he's ok when really it feels as if he's breaking from the inside out, a million shards of bitter memories and unfulfilled dreams cutting their way out of his body, too vast, too endless, to be contained within such a meek mortal form.

The pieces need to escape somehow, because when they don't find their own way out they clog his lungs and his throat and his mind. So thick red lines trail down his thighs and his arms and his ribs every now and again.

Ashamed as he may be for submitting to the taunting voice in the back of his mind that tells him _it's ok, it's supposed to feel nice_ , those moments are liberating.

The illusion doesn't last long.

His reflection is broken, distorted, by the tears welling in his eyes. But it doesn't hurt inside any more, and maybe that makes it ok.

He knows it doesn't.

 

* * *

 

The first time he heard Newton's voice Hermann wanted to stab his eardrums with the pencil tucked behind his ear. It was too loud, too vulgar, too sharp, too everything.

Now it's the only thing he wants to listen to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Incase there was any confusion, the chapters will switch between flashbacks and current events


	2. Saturnine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The acts of man dictate the future of the earth - from a universal scale to an individual plane, to the thoughts that burden the lives of those caught in the undercurrent.

Sunlight slipped through the cracks in his curtain, showering the space in white freckles which permeated the darkness that enveloped him. It was too early to get ready for school, but too late to fall asleep again. Hermann would have preferred to stay home, to rid himself of the ridicule that followed him day in and day out just for a little while, a few hours out of the week. But he knew that the weakness that lived within the marrow of his bones was looked down upon by his father, and even hinting at taking a day off would be like pulling a trigger - like giving him a reason to throw one hit and then another.

If he ever told anyone that Lars Gottlieb was violent, no one would believe him.

His mother would change the subject, send him off to do chores, and pull her sleeves further down her arms. His older brother Dieterich would shake his head at him as if he were a naïve babe that didn't know when to stop crying, vying for attention. Karla would simply hold him until the tears stopped like he did for her. Bastien wouldn't understand - too young, too spoiled.

Outsiders would be shocked, uprooted, replanted by his father's reassurance that his son, though gifted in other mediums, was undergoing a phase where all he could do was tell silly lies, would laugh and grip Hermann's shoulder too tight.

_Ich würde niemals meine Familie verletzt. Ich bin ein gut Vader. Ich bin ein gut Gatte._

So he decided to get up even though no one else was awake yet. He was tired because he spent the early hours of the night perched by his window, picking out constellations, and he wanted to go back to bed.

But it was a Monday.

Wearing his starch crisp uniform, sitting in his first class, his eyes wandering to the magnolia trees outside the window, he sighed. Beyond that a clear blue sky, everlasting. Beyond that an endless plane of stars, eternal.

He spent the school day dreaming of traveling the great unknown, his secret dream. When he got home the only other one back was Lars. It was rare to see him back so early - usually Hermann has free reign of the house for a few hours before his sister, followed by his parents, return from school and work respectively. It's the type of unwelcome surprise that puts him on edge.

Lars doesn't seem to notice he's back, however. He's busy, tucked away in his office in the middle of a conference call. Hermann doesn't hesitate to run upstairs as quietly as possible, and lock himself away in Karla's closet.

It's dark, constricting, too narrow; he feels the walls closing in on him but tells himself it's better than the sting of his fathers belt on his thighs even as he begins to hyperventilate.

He closes his eyes and takes short, gasping breaths. Breaths in the smell of his sister's perfume that clings to her sweaters and cardigans.

Hermann is eight.

Outside, it started to rain.

 

* * *

 

In the break room there's a mini fridge tucked next to a broken microwave from the early 2000's. Digging around behind a few labeled containers, Hermann finds what he's looking for, a small tub of yoghurt he forgot there the day before. He doesn't trust the contraptions ability to keep anything fresh for longer than a few hours so he tosses it, briefly considering taking intern Jennifer's salad.

He leaves that thought in front of the fridge and instead diggs though his pockets for his wallet. With the five dollars left in his name he makes his way to the canteen. The lines are short at this hour in the morning and he has enough for a small container of strawberry gelatin and bottled water.

Balancing his tray in one unsteady hand, he goes to find a seat. He spots an empty table near the exit but before he can take a step towards it a rather large man bumps into him - presumably a pilot in training - sending Hermann stumbling back while his tray and cane fly off in different directions. The gelatin cubes spill out onto the floor and the bottle of water rolls away under a table.

The brute gives a halfhearted apology as he walks away. He's left to gather his cane and the tray on his own. The gelatin is ruined and trying to reach the bottle is a lost cause.

People peer at him from over their forks and spoons and knives. No one gets up to help.

He's used to it

 

* * *

 

"Are you sure that's the one?" she asks for the billionth (fourth) time.

"Yes, yes. I have already told you, yes," he insists. Still, she looks hesitant.

He throws down the letter of acceptance and glares at her over the brim of his reading glasses. Karla has her lower lip between her teeth, worrying at it so steadfastly he thinks she'll start bleeding any minute now.

"What is it this time? Do you not want me to go there? You're the one who told me I shouldn't listen to father and choose a college myself. That's what I'm trying to do." He's angry. She's hard to read, she's always been hard to read, and he's certain she'll never become an open book to him. It's the only trait she inherited from their father and it's infuriating.

Karla sits at the kitchen table next to him; takes his hand, sighs. "I know that's what I said, Hermie-"

"Don't call me that," he snaps.

"But I want you to think this through," she continues as if he hadn't spoken, "not just pick the first place that accepted you. College is a big deal - and _you're_ a big deal. Everyone wants you even if you didn't apply there!"

"I am, Karla. This is the logical choice. It has everything I want, it has a good reputation, and it meets all of father's standards as well."

She let's go of his hand, hangs her head for a moment of two, gets up and goes to speak but nothing comes out. Hermann waits, quietly, because he's learned over the years that sometimes she needs a moment to gather her thoughts and organize what it is she wants to say.

When she does speak, she sounds tired, dejected. "You're like him in more ways than you'd think."

 

* * *

 

Pouring over his journal, attempting to decipher the mystery that is the opening of the breach, with too little to go on, Hermann's stomach grumbles. He aches for a proper meal but his check hasn't gone through yet.

The familiar emptiness keeps him on edge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lars is saying (German translation);  
> "I would never lay a hand on my own family. I'm a good father. I'm a good husband."
> 
> I apologize if that's in any way incorrect but I'm not a German speaker, this is provided with assistance from a friend and student. 
> 
>  
> 
> I have some idea of where I want to take this now, after thinking it over, and as my ideas pop up I'll go adding to the tags with characters that will make appearances and any possible triggers. If at any time you come across something that should be tagged but isn't, please don't hesitate to let me know.


	3. Scintilla

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's any of it worth?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to try to make updates a little more regular. 
> 
> Also, the tags are a bit of a spoiler alert for what's to come. 
> 
> Totally unbeta'd.

One too many times Hermann avoided entering the kitchen in their home simply because his father was there, at the counter nursing coffee or at the table reading the morning paper. He got used to skipping meals so he wouldn't have to face Lars that day, got used to turning around and fleeing when he saw him walking his way. Any time he was in a room, if he could avoid it, Hermann removed himself.

He didn't understand how Karla and Dieterich could hold a conversation with Lars only a few hours after he had raised his hand to either of them over something petty, Karla always more soft spoken than their brother.

Bastien had yet to know what it felt like to be betrayed by his hero.

They all sought to keep it that way.

 

* * *

 

He was laying in bed, blasting the most obnoxious song he could think of at the highest volume he dared - loud enough to put the neighbours on edge but not enough for them to do anything about it - when it all clicked.

He loved them.

Newt loved the kaiju. Not in the twisted way the kaiju cultists did, definitely not in the sickly sexual way most thought he did when they caught sight of his tattoos.

In the way you look back at a pivotal moment in your life and realise _fucking hell, if that hadn't happened everything would be so different._

Dead, probably. Newt tells himself he's ok with that, and he wants to be. The ink on his skin is doing more than showing off his passion, there are scars that touch the surface and there are scars that dwell deeper than the breach. His tattoos serve as a buffer between the real world.

Someone got all psychoanalytical like that on him once. The guy ended up with a broken nose (totally worth it).

A few slices of pizza and a beer later, it's nothing, just another firing of synapses past and forgotten. That's all life is, in hindsight.

  

* * *

 

It's easy to forget when he's wrapped up in his equations. It's easy to pretend that his body doesn't betray him. It's easy to forget that his very being is definable to the last square centimetre by stacks upon stacks of medical records.

It's easy.

Until he drops a pen or a stick of chalk and spends more time trying to pick it up than it's worth.

It's easy.

Until he finds himself with two many things in his hands and he has to compromise on what's a necessity versus a want, simply so he can accommodate the cane.

  

* * *

  

There's a nagging itch at the base of her neck every time she breaks the rules, a feeling that tells her she shouldn't disobey his orders or risk loosing her already dying chances to become a pilot.

But when Chuck pulls her closer by the waist and she breathes in the crisp night air around them, Mako can't help but smile, giggle, forgetting the rules her father juggled to enforce.

What's the harm? It's not like they have forever.

  

* * *

 

He can see it on the other side of the water. The night sky is overcast and the fog surrounding the dock is thick, only the brightest stars shine though, competing with the lights of the city on the other end of the bay. It's surreal, like floating atop the vast uncharted sea in the aftermath of a great storm.

The distant sounds of car horns blaring behind him ruin the illusion.

With a deep breath, full of the heavy stench of gasoline and fish, Tendo turns around and heads back to his car. It's only been a few weeks - from this end things look ok. As if a monster straight out of a cheap remake of Godzilla hadn't risen out of the deep and destroyed the only home he's ever known.

He feels like an intruder.

Everyone is still waiting for another one of those giant fuckers to rain devastation on god knows what coast next.

Leaning against the hood of his car, he pats his pockets for a lighter. Sleep can wait. The view is too hopeful.


	4. There's a Word for This, I Know It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone has their escpapes.

He wants it to stop.

He wants to turn off the TV, put down the remote, close the curtains, block out the light and the sirens and the columns of smoke.

But that's not his job.

He left her alone in their bed, he speeds all the way back to the 'dome even though most of the streets are empty. He hurries because these days there's never enough time.

Maybe, just maybe, he'll stop by the tattoo parlour tomorrow, have his artist look over some new sketches. That is, if the place is still standing.

 

* * *

  

It's almost as if she didn't hear him. As if every word out if his mouth were foreign to her.

She doesn't use the right name. She insists it's just a phase. She yells at him the first time she sees his short hair, sees him wearing a binder. Calls him a disgrace. It's like that time he pierced his lip and she tried to tear it out, but today she won't lay a hand on him - can't even look at him.

So he moves out. He's already eighteen. There's no reason to stay.

He rooms in a tiny ass apartment with some friends from school, gets a job, gets more piercings.

She calls sometimes, convinces herself she's talking to her rebellious daughter, that her little girl is coming back soon. She's just been misguided by the wrong influences. Their family isn't falling apart.

Tendo hangs up before she can hurt him again.

He spends more time working than he does at school; he dresses how he wants to; he winks at cute girls on the ferry, gets their numbers.

He learns to love himself.

No one is there to hold him back.

 

* * *

 

She thinks maybe it's her fault. Maybe she could have saved them. Maybe she could have changed everything if only she had known what would have happened to them sooner.

Raleigh tells her she shouldn't blame herself, silently, without words.

He drapes a blanket over her shoulders and presses a warm mug into her hands. He holds his over hers and he searches her eyes. Whatever he finds makes him smile, lean down, kiss her cheek.

Everyone tells her they're good for each other.

They can't replace what they've lost, everyone knows that.

"It's your turn to walk Max."

He chuckles and kisses her cheek again. "Lemme go get the leash."

Their laugh sounds alike. In the first months, it hurt, it made her eyes sting with grief, made her want to push him away. Today, Mako can't picture a world where she has to pick between one of them.

 

* * *

 

He met her by accident. The rain had just stopped as he reached the escalator heading down into the metro terminal, fumbled with his umbrella a bit and almost poked her eye out when she tried to duck past him.

He didn't notice, she didn't say anything - too busy pulling her candy pink heels off of her feet, late for an interview. Hermann was too preoccupied with trying not to drop his bag or cane while closing up the umbrella. When he did make it down to the platform, she was standing a little too close to the tracks, dialling a number off of a business card. He was distracted checking the time, considering sending out a quick text to let his lab assistants know he would be late.

He bumped into her again when the train arrived and everyone on the platform battled past the passengers getting off to board. She apologised as soon as she saw the cane just as he was excusing himself for crushing her bare foot with it. It was awkward. He probably blushed.

He saw her again every morning for a week and a half. Elegant flowing hair, high heels in which she easily towered over him, modern black glasses, red lips.

Then one day she wasn't there any more. Hermann never told anyone about it.

 

* * *

 

"I wish you wouldn't do this to yourself," she said into the receiver. On the other end of the line there was a crackle, a sigh, the clattering of dishes and running water. She tried again: "It isn't your fault, Raleigh. There was nothing anyone could do. It's been six months, he wouldn't be blaming himself any more. He would-"

_Don't talk like you know him! Don't act like you were there! You weren't in his head! I was!_

He doesn't say that. He bites the inside of his cheeks until he tastes blood. Jazmine waits. Raleigh grips the handle of his mug, goes for a sip, finds it's empty.

Everything is empty.

There's a hole in his heart that gushes memories when he looks at the pictures taped on his wall, leaking the faith out of his being. There's a gap in his mind where where a smug voice used to be, nagging, familiar. The mug hits the wall before he realises he threw it.

He can feel Jazmine flinch even though she isn't there. He hates himself more now than he already did for scaring her, for hurting her, for being unable to talk to her.

"When you decide you need me, I'll be here, Rals."

 

* * *

 

It's mid afternoon when they decide to sign up. They have nothing better to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally intended this to be a Hermann-centric fic, and while it's mostly going to be about him I keep wanting to explore the other characters as well. 
> 
> I have some chapters planned out but I only really have a timeline for Hermann. Otherwise, the events of everyone else's lives are just tiny glimpses into the befores and afters of pivotal moments.


End file.
